


Odd - Underfell

by InvisibleLee



Series: Undertale Shorts [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, Character Death, Dubcon or Noncon Moirallegiance, Fontcest, M/M, Papyrus - Freeform, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sans - Freeform, Soul-Crushing, Souls, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 17:12:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11235519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvisibleLee/pseuds/InvisibleLee
Summary: Papyrus starts acting weird and Sans decides to find out why.





	Odd - Underfell

**Author's Note:**

> * Hello! First I want to say that this is not a consensual sex story. Second, I do not agree with noncon. Third, I do not headcanon Papyrus being abusive towards Sans in this degree for Underfell.
> 
> * Someone asked me awhile back to write Papyrus from Underfell in heat, so I did. They wanted something different.
> 
> * I have found things with stigmas to go ignored. Rape and noncon is bad. Has and stigma. But we should still be aware. I don't think I should stop writing it just because it's a stigma. So here it is.

The night was chilly. It was one of those colds that settled into the bones, forewarning of all of the bad things to come, of how restless the night would be. The kind that kept you awake, no matter how tired you were.

It was dark, too, much darker than one would expect from an August night. The shutters of the house fluttered, the hinges beyond repair. What use was it to fix something that would only be broken, time and time again afterwards? So the hinges remained untouched, soiled, creaky, and broken. The window panes were worth replacing, no matter how often this needed to be done – just last week, in fact, this was done three times. The crystal clear glass helped to keep out the icy breeze, the snow, and, most importantly, _ them. _

Inside the wooden home resting on the edge of the small town, a fire was blazing. Not a normal fireplace kind, either, but a roaring, burn-down-the-house sort, with foot-long flames that should have lit everything ablaze. Of course, these bright red embers did no such thing – they were too carefully controlled for that. They leapt from a glass bowl set on the floor, illuminating the living room – if one could even describe it as such. The couch seemed to be very worn, and the walls had taken on some minor and major scratches and claw marks. The floorboards were cracked, and if the basement wasn’t concrete, there would undoubtedly have been a hole leading straight down into it. Instead, splotches of exposed concrete were scattered around, visible through the gashes and cracks.

The kitchen was attached through a single doorway, and it had fared a bit better. The cabinets had no doors on them, but the dishes and boxes inside were in no disrepair. The refrigerator seemed a bit run-down, the door dirty and streaked, but overall in good function.

The stairs going up showed more of the same abuse that the living room did, with scratches and peeling paint all along the walls leading up to the two bedrooms. The left door seemed in good condition, almost new, while the one further down bore the same markings as the rest of the house. In fact, it even showed signs of being scorched, likely by flames like those found in the bowl downstairs.

Inside this room, beyond the damaged door, laid a very awake skeleton. Short, undernourished, and very worn, this skeleton’s name was Sans, the younger brother of the Great and Terrifying Papyrus.

What a shadow to live in.

Nevertheless, this smaller skeleton knew of his brother’s reputation, knew he could never surpass it, no matter what. So he remained as the faithful, lazy, good-for-nothing brother. How accurate, Sans would think on the days that Papyrus would yell at him. He would think that there was nothing better than to die, and yet he would wake the next morning to the sounds of Papyrus returning home in the late-slash-early hours, making a ruckus in the kitchen. The sounds would renew him, and he would suffer through the day as usual, never pushed far enough.

It was nearing the time that Papyrus would return – no, it was five minutes past. As the small skeleton glanced at his alarm clock, worried thoughts began to invade his mind. His eyes flickered red for a brief moment in subdued panic – no, nothing had happened, surely. Papyrus must just have been running late.

Funny, how Sans could have such concern for the very “brother” that hurt him so often.

Tired and worried, Sans pulled himself slowly from his bed to place his feet on the wood floor. The cold seeped into his numb bones, making them ache dully. Not that he noticed – this was an everyday occurrence, after all. For a moment, his eyes roamed his mess of a room, with the self-sustaining trash tornado blowing listlessly in the corner, socks littering the floor…Sans sighed. He pushed off of the bed and ambled through the door, the hinges squealing. He was surprised to find his fire still roaring – but then again, he hadn’t fallen asleep, instead tossing about restlessly in bed for hours, until this moment. 

Frowning a little, Sans squinted, focusing to try to dim the light. Instead, the whole thing simply snuffed out. Huffing in annoyance, he turned away and headed into the kitchen. How long before he could really control his magic? Why was it always so fucking wild? Sure, he’d managed to keep from burning things, but that was about it. It didn’t help that he was worried and anxious.

He opened up the fridge and scowled – nothing but mustard. Granted, he quite enjoyed it, but it was always much better when it was paired with something else. But it was late and Grillby’s probably wasn’t open, not to mention he was likely on the death list still, so he picked up a container and popped the lid off, chugging the condiment. As he did, the front door creaked open, hitting the wall with a thud. Startled, Sans jumped, turning in time to see Papyrus stumble inside, a scowl covering his features. For a moment, their eyes met, red versus white that flickered red in concern, and then Papyrus’ scowl deepened, and he looked away, slamming the door shut.

“What are you doing?” he snapped at his brother, and any of Sans’ illusions of his brother asking for help were whisked away like paper in the wind and replaced with bitter hate. “Drinking that mustard again, hm? How many times must I tell you that it’s a disgusting habit?” It was a rhetorical question, Sans knew from experience, so he said nothing, simply replacing the bottle. Something was off, he noticed from the way Papyrus’ words seemed to tilt into each other, how his eyes never remained in the same place for more than a few seconds. Strange, indeed. And despite how much he may have despised his brother, he had to ask.

“You okay, Boss?” Immediately, those red eyes were boring into his own, and for a moment, it seemed as though his brother was going to leap for him, to beat him, maybe, but then nothing happened. Silence stretched from seconds to minutes, and he was honestly a little fearful.

“What’s it to you?” Papyrus finally snapped sharply, turning away to head upstairs. “I’m going to my room – stay out.” And then there was the tell-tale slam of his door, and Sans relaxed, figuring Papyrus had merely gotten into a little scrap. With his worries eased, Sans trudged upstairs himself, returning to his room to sleep, and finally, falling into darkness with minimal trouble, the cold somehow driven away.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. No matter how hard Sans tried, he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Yes, his brother continued acting strange, but it was reason that eluded him. It wasn’t food, or Undyne, or – hopefully – something he’d done. There had been no talk against Papyrus, the Second-in-Command of the Royal Guard. So then, if none of that, what could it possibly be?

For a moment, he allowed himself to consider that maybe some kind of sympathetic human had come along, and managed to undo his brother. But no, that was preposterous – Papyrus would easily kill them if any such thing occurred.

So there had to be something! Maybe he could…but no, that would be dangerous. But then, so was everything Sans did…

Finally, after three days of odd behavior, Sans decided to do exactly what he tried so hard to avoid – sneaking into Boss’ room. It wasn’t as if Papyrus had cameras in there – he’d checked. But if he left even one clue, he knew exactly what was in store for him, and he could assure you that it was anything but pleasant or even merely uncomfortable. But he was going to have to risk it – all of this weirdness was getting to him. It had started with that first night, and ever since, Papyrus had been even moodier, prone to violence even more often than normal. He continued to return home later and later, and now, he’d refused to even look Sans’ way. Usually, this would mean nothing, but last night proved to be extremely weird, for Sans had Grillby’s on the table, and was digging in when he came home. Ordinarily, Papyrus would have snapped about it – “It smells up the whole house, idiot!” – but he’d said nothing and instead went straight into his room.

Something was seriously wrong.

When Sans woke that morning, there had been no sign of his brother, so he assumed him to have left early. With that in his mind, he was still a little wary in approaching. Strange, the door was cracked open a little, when it was usually locked tight against potential intruders… Slowly, he pushed open the door a bit, and, peering inside cautiously, he froze.

Inside the room, lying on the bed, was Boss. But he wasn’t sleeping. 

Red energy was filling the room, casting a crimson haze over everything. From here, with the door open, he could hear his brother panting, see him arching his back, see how his hand slipped beneath his pants’ waistband, pulling free a glowing extremity much larger than Sans might have thought – not that he had thought about it, of course not!

But, as he watched his brother working on himself, he couldn’t help the red flush that was spreading across his face, and the clear twitch of energy between his own legs. He swallowed hard – this must have been what was wrong; Boss was in heat.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He tried to back up, but for a few more moments, he was agonizingly stuck there, watching his brother attempt to pleasure himself, to rid himself of the gnawing feeling of wanting so much. Sans had his own ways of dealing with it, mostly involving locking himself away in the basement and refusing to do anything about it until it went away. Only every once in awhile did Sans ever allow himself to be able to release that kind of tension. Of course, that was never enough - the whole point of being in heat was to come in contact with another person, to go all out.

Suddenly, those late nights started to make sense. Papyrus must have been using someone…

Somehow, the thought brought Sans up short, and he snapped out of his little trance of watching the scene before him. He backed up slowly, but his caution was useless - that old, creaky floor merely did what it did best; it creaked. Loudly. It had only lasted a second, but even in the distracted state his brother was in, Sans knew it was all too audible. Even as the thought came to mind that he was totally fucked, those red eyes slid over to view him, and instead of a scowl, Boss smirked.

Fuck.

“Care to take a picture, lazy bones?” Boss drawled. “It might last you longer.” Sans didn’t know what to say. After all, this was so unlike anything that he’d ever seen his brother do - it was like someone else came in and decided, ‘ _ hey, let’s pretend to be Boss and fuck with Sans. How fun! _ ’

Not.

But no, this was undoubtedly his Boss, not some alternate form, and there he was, staring at Sans without malice, almost…inviting, as he continued to stroke himself, as if uninterrupted. There was conflict going on in Sans’ mind, a total whirlwind of thoughts. A million questions at once swirled around, demanding answers he wasn’t quite able to come up with:

_ What the fuck is this? _

_ What the fuck am I doing? _

_ Why am I not moving? _

_ Why am I not in my room now? _

_ Oh  _ **_shit_ ** _ , what the  _ **_fuck_ ** _ am I doing? _

_ What the fuck is  _ **_he_ ** _ doing? _

It was at that moment Boss decided that he was done waiting for whatever he was waiting for, and so he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Of course, he was still stroking that long, hard member of his, as though his brother was not simply standing right there, watching him rather more intently than he ought to. Standing, he stalked towards the other, eyes blazing darkly as he approached. Sans’ soul was beating horribly hard beneath his shirt, he was unable to move at all, and, honestly,  _ why would I want to?  _ Boss didn't look angry - just predatorial, a gaze that sent shivers down his spine and caused his own half-formed member to twitch in anticipation, forming the rest of the way with the simple look. He stared up at Boss, a little dumbfounded as the other placed his free hand on the door frame while he leaned down, close to Sans’ face. 

“Do you plan to just stand there, brother?” he asked with a smirk, peering down at Sans, who shivered at the use of the word. Boss  _ never  _ called him brother.

“Y-y...n-no...I...I don't…” Sans couldn't form even the most incoherent of thoughts, eyes travelling down apprehensively to the glowing erection that Boss just kept working. He swallowed hard.

Papyrus smirked at Sans’ clear hesitation, deciding that yes, it was fun to tease the older skeleton, but really, he needed a proper release.

Acting quickly, while Sans was still trying to recover, Papyrus yanked his brother inside by the front of his shirt. Sans stumbled in, caught off guard. Turning back to stumble out an apology, he noted Boss approaching faster this time, and now, he had the common sense to stumble away, until his back hit his brother's bed frame.

“Come now,  _ brother, _ ” Papyrus cooed mischievously. “Don't run away.” The last statement was a command, causing Sans to freeze, tense as he watched Papyrus come closer and closer.

“Why not help me?” Papyrus murmured, and then he did something Sans had never expected.

Not gentle in the least, Papyrus forced his mouth upon Sans’, a glowing tongue pushing its way through his teeth and coaxing his own tongue to form unwillingly. Sans choked and attempted to push his brother away, but Papyrus was too strong and Sans would never use magic against him, so he struggled rather uselessly.

Making quick work of it, Papyrus used one hand to trap Sans by tossing him onto the bed, the other stripping Sans of his shorts and revealing the swollen red appendage that he was so eager to see. Keeping his hands on Sans, Papyrus rubbed himself against the other roughly, member grinding member. 

“Nng…” Papyrus huffed, “stop  _ doing _ that.” He was referring to Sans’ squirming and pushing, the smaller skeleton trying desperately to get his brother  _ off _ of him. He didn’t want it like  _ this _ , didn’t want his brother  _ forcing _ himself on him. As great as it felt, as  _ right _ even as it felt, this was  _ not consensual. _

But his brother did  _ not care _ .

He was being touched and fondled and bitten - where had Papyrus’ mouth yet to roam on his neck? Marks were littering his bones, light and ready to fade. And, unbidden, Papyrus spread Sans’ legs, held him firmly to his bed, and thus thrust himself into the unwillingly formed prostate, letting out a guttural moan at the sensation. Sans let out a strangled gasp, the length stretching his walls enough to be rather painful, and he grasped Papyrus’ arms tightly, talons digging into bone, only serving to push Papyrus into a further lust. 

“N-no, st-ah-op…” Sans gasped as Papyrus thrust into him, harder and faster each time. “P-ple-ease, Pa-py-rus…” But there was no stopping the lust-filled desires of his much-stronger brother, of the skeleton that could kill him with a single attack. In, out, in, out, his brother kept a steady, punishing pace, giving Sans not even a single moment more to voice his complaints, his wish for Papyrus to stop.

But despite how much he  _ didn’t _ want this, his Soul reacted to the actions with exuberance. It glowed a bright, bright red through his sweater, which was quickly stripped to reveal it. And so the other quickly took hold of the sensitive body part - essentially a body part, anyways - and he rubbed on it, gently so as not to pierce but gripping tightly. One hand wa stroking the Soul, the other easily pinning Sans to the bed.

“A-ah!” Sans moaned, unable to contain an exclamation of the pure pleasure that shot down his spine. Pleasure tinged with pain, anger, disgust…

“That's right, Sans. You love this, don't you?” Papyrus breathed, a smirk on his face as he pounded into the weak pile of bones beneath him. Sans was panting, and tears coursed down his face, and he wanted to tell Papyrus  _ no, he didn't love anything about this! _ But he couldn't speak, his body betrayed him, and it only took a swipe of Papyrus’ long red tongue across his leaking soul to send Sans over the edge with a loud gasp and a moan.

Sans had hoped Papyrus would stop, but he just kept going, and Sans couldn't keep up, he couldn't keep breathing properly, couldn't hold on to his protests, couldn't feel his body…

He went limp, but Papyrus took no notice as he pillaged his brother for his own wants. And when he finally came, he let out a guttural groan and gripped too hard on the soul in his hand and crushed it to pieces.

The soul shattered like glass, and as Papyrus came down from his high, he did not comprehend what he had done. It was not until he saw the dust flaking away from his brother’s body that he noticed the soul shards between his fingers.

Sans’ body went up in a cloud of dust.

Papyrus sat up. He picked up his clothes and put the on. He was silent. He picked up Sans’ clothes and folded them - they were cleaner than most. He walked down the hallway to his brother's room and put them away. 

He collapsed on Sans’ bed.

He laid there, silent, for three days. Then he spoke in a choked whisper.

_ “Why haven't you come back, Sans?” _


End file.
